This missive she handed with an air as if it had not
the least connexion with the bill, but were something in the nature
of a delicate and joyful surprise.
So many times had Rosa seen such dispersals, and so very little did
she know of any other Home, that she was contented to remain where
she was, and was even better contented than ever before, having her
latest friend with her. And yet her latest friendship had a blank
place in it of which she could not fail to be sensible. Helena
Landless, having been a party to her brother's revelation about
Rosa, and having entered into that compact of silence with Mr.
Crisparkle, shrank from any allusion to Edwin Drood's name. Why
she so avoided it, was mysterious to Rosa, but she perfectly
perceived the fact. But for the fact, she might have relieved her
own little perplexed heart of some of its doubts and hesitations,
by taking Helena into her confidence. As it was, she had no such
vent: she could only ponder on her own difficulties, and wonder
more and more why this avoidance of Edwin's name should last, now
that she knew--for so much Helena had told her--that a good
understanding was to be reestablished between the two young men,
when Edwin came down.
It would have made a pretty picture, so many pretty girls kissing
Rosa in the cold porch of the Nuns' House, and that sunny little
creature peeping out of it (unconscious of sly faces carved on
spout and gable peeping at her), and waving farewells to the
departing coaches, as if she represented the spirit of rosy youth
abiding in the place to keep it bright and warm in its desertion.
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